Guns, Knives, and All the Things In Between
by xElementFivex
Summary: Prompto just wants to learn how to fight. Gladiolus gives him more than he bargains for.
1. Chapter 1

It starts with an assassination attempt.

Not of him; nobody would want to kill him. He's just Prompto, best friend and consummate liar. Not even really a crown citizen. He's nobody.

But Noctis is somebody, so it's him that the man with the knife and the crazed eyes is running for.

It happens so fast that Prompto barely has time to register the hard glint of sunlight off steel and the sound of pounding footsteps on the pavement before the man is tackled to the ground by one of the royal guards. Just like that, it's over before it's even really begun. The would-be murderer is not even in cuffs yet when Noctis is whisked away into a palace car that's all tinted windows and reinforced glass. Prompto's shoved in roughly as an afterthought but he doesn't mind because he's pretty sure that left to his own devices, he'd still be standing on the sidewalk staring like an idiot.

Noctis doesn't seem bothered, because it's not the first time and it certainly won't be the last time. Being royalty, Prompto has come to realize, seems to come with more downsides than perks. He's freaked out, but he doesn't want to spoil the mood so he cracks a lame joke and Noctis smiles and the whole incident is put behind them.

Except that it's not.

That night Prompto can't sleep. After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, he finally gives up and, with his eyes locked on the ceiling, lets the 'what ifs' consume him.

What if the guards are too slow?  
What if next time they have a gun?  
What if there's no car nearby?  
What if next time it's just me?

The thoughts fill his head until he thinks it might burst and he shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubs until bright spots fill his vision. He's never felt so inadequate, and given his friendship with Noctis, that's saying a lot. Noctis would never say anything, but Prompto knows in his heart that he could try his entire life, and still not be worthy of the prince's friendship. He fingers the barcode on his wrist and feels a fierce surge of protectiveness well up in his chest for his first real friend.

After that, his mind is firmly made up and he drifts to sleep, hand clenched tight around his wrist and a slight smile on his face.

* * *

"You want to learn how to fight?"

It's the next day and Noctis and Prompto are sitting at a worn, brown folding table eating lunch. The school cafeteria is as loud as ever, though there is a calm pocket just around them, where the other students speak too quietly and walk too quickly around the crown prince.

Prompto holds up a French fry and looks without really seeing it. "Yeah. I want to be able to defend myself." The 'and you' he only adds in his mind.

"Hey man, if that's what you want, more power to ya." Noctis shrugs and takes another bite of his burger. He chews thoughtfully and gazes at Prompto across the table. "You know," he says, swallowing, "you could ask my trainer to teach you."

Prompto shifts uncomfortably in his chair. The thought of him being trained by the same person as the crown prince of Lucis is almost laughable, really. "Sure." He waves a casual hand in the air to undercut the strain in his voice.

"No, I'm serious!" Noctis is leaning across the table now, eyes intent on Prompto. "Go tonight, it's his day off. I'll even put in a good word for you."

Prompto chuckles weakly and forces a smile and a thank you, but he definitely feels better once the subject switches to the term papers that are due in a few weeks. He almost hopes that Noctis will forget, but after the bell rings and they're separating to go to different classes, a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled address and a name is shoved into his hands.

* * *

Prompto gulps and it takes all his effort not to turn on his heel and immediately walk back home. The house is huge and stately and the slight twinge of dread he had started to feel on the long walk from his not great, but affordable neighborhood to one of the districts ringing the royal palace quickly morphs into full-on panic. He had expected it, really, because anyone trusted with training the prince has to a member of the royal court, but expecting something and seeing it with your own eyes are two very different things.

But he's here for a reason, so he takes one last glance at the paper in his hand and makes sure he's got the right address before crumpling it up and dropping it into his pocket. He takes a deep breath and tries to appear more confident than he feels as he pushes open the wrought-iron gate and marches up the steps to elaborate, wooden double doors.

He only has to knock once before one of the doors swings open and a girl only a little younger than he is greets him. She's pretty, with short brown hair and an open smile, and Prompto figures he might have a crush on her if he were into that sort of thing. Her name is Iris, she tells him and she seems nice so he digs the piece of paper back out of his pocket and shows her the name written on it and explains why he's here, where he so clearly does not belong.

Iris smiles again, in that earnest way that makes Prompto duck his head and blush, and nods and then bounds off to parts unknown in the house. Still standing on the doorstep, he can hear her call, "Gladdy! Someone's here for you! A friend of Noct's!"

Prompto winces a little bit at the nickname. Noctis had been telling him for the better part of the last year to call him Noct, but Prompto hasn't been able to bring himself to do it. It's a stupid hang up; one that he wishes he could just get over, but the name feels too casual, too intimate on his tongue.

The man that comes to the door is huge and Prompto can't help but stare. His broad shoulders fill the open frame and the muscles in his arms bulge when he crosses them across his chest. Prompto very pointedly tries to keep his gaze away and not linger on how the thin fabric of his black tank top clings to his abdomen.

Prompto's heart skips a beat when he realizes that he recognizes the man. It's one of Noctis' many bodyguards. Prompto's seen him quite a few times with Noctis, always a step behind and to the left of the prince, a quiet but intimidating presence. He hadn't realize the man was his trainer as well.

"You're Gladiolus?" The question hangs in the air between them.

The man stares him down and Prompto wants to cringe, but he came here with a purpose and this is important, so he sucks it up and does his best to meet it with his own level gaze. "I am," he finally answers, his voice a deep, rich baritone that sends a rush of heat right through Prompto's stomach. "What do you want?"

"I- I'm looking for a trainer. Noctis suggested I come to you."

Another stare and this time Prompto swears he can feel contempt rolling off Gladiolus in waves. He knows the big man has looked at him, all five foot eight scrawny inches of him, and has found him wanting. He presses on anyway.

"I want to learn how to fight."

Gladiolus snorts in amusement and leans one massive shoulder against the doorframe. "And I told Noctis, I don't have time to take on a student right now." He reaches out and wraps a huge hand around one of Promto's biceps. "Hiding any muscle under that school uniform?" he asks derisively.

Prompto feels his face flush, heat rising up to color his freckles darker, either from embarrassment or from the sudden warmth of the hand wrapped around his arm. He's not sure which, but he shrugs his arm out from under the larger man's grip and frowns.

"I'm a runner?" He offers, knowing it isn't what he's asking.

"Then I suggest that you run from any fights. Like I said, I don't have the time." Gladiolus starts to turn away and before Prompto can stop himself, he reaches out and clamps a hand onto the tattooed forearm.

"Please?" He tells himself he won't beg, but the last time something felt this important to him he spent years losing weight before he could even work up the nerve to talk to Noctis. "Please," he repeats in a level voice. "I need to do this. For Noctis."

Maybe it's the prince's name that does it or maybe something in his eyes is more sincere this time, but Gladiolus turns back towards him and purses his lips. The man takes a deep breath. "Fine."

Elated, Prompto snatches his hand back from Gladiolus' arm like he's laid it on a hot stove. He starts to say thank you, but Gladiolus interrupts him.

"I don't do this for free, you know."

Prompto's enthusiasm dies down a little.

"How much?"

Gladiolus says a number and Prompto's eyes go wide while he does a bit of mental math. He thinks he can just manage it as long as there are no emergencies, and he maybe eats a little more ramen than usual. He forces a smile and agrees.

"Tomorrow then, at seven."

And just like that, Prompto is staring at the wooden door as it shuts in his face. Part of him is a little proud of himself, and part of him is slightly nervous, and part of him is trying not to imagine what Gladiolus looks like with his shirt off. It's more than enough to occupy his thoughts for the long walk home.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Prompto is a bundle of nerves and anxious energy. He tries and fails to eat breakfast, but his stomach is busy wringing itself into knots. He taps and drums his fingers on his desk all the way through his classes, earning several reprimands that do nothing to help focus him. He barely hears as Noctis chatters through lunch, and doesn't notice the concerned twist of the prince's mouth as he watches Prompto pick at his food.

Somehow, Prompto manages to make it through the rest of his day without causing an incident, and now he's here, back in front of the huge estate, chewing nervously at the nail on his thumb. The sun is hanging low, but it's nearing summer, so there's still an hour or so of daylight left. The heat hasn't really started yet, but Prompto can feel hints of it in the shifting breeze.

He's just working up the nerves to go knock on the door, when it bangs open and Gladiolus emerges, a towel slung over one broad shoulder. The big man comes to a stop in front of him, his eyes taking in Prompto's appearance with a quick downward flick. Prompto tugs nervously on his fingers, suddenly very aware of how scrawny he must look in comparison, standing there in his too-old t-shirt and faded gym shorts.

Gladiolus is wearing simple black track pants. They're slightly baggy but seem to hug his thigh muscles in a way that makes Prompto flush. He's wearing another one of those tight tank tops and, just like yesterday, Prompto very pointedly makes an attempt not to look at it.

Gladiolus extends a hand, palm out, in Prompto's direction, and for a second Prompto has no clue what he means. Then the man raises an eyebrow and Prompto turns an even darker shade of red, fumbling for his wallet before dropping a handful of crumbled bills into the outstretched hand. Seemingly satisfied, Gladiolus closes his fist on the money and begins to walk without a word.

Prompto assumes he's supposed to follow, so he does. He has to do a hopping half-jog to keep up with Gladiolus' long-legged strides. They continue in silence for minutes that seem to stretch into an awkward eternity before Prompto just can't take it anymore. He hates silence, especially when he's nervous.

"So um… where are the swords and stuff?"

"No weapons." The reply is gruff and Gladiolus doesn't even look at him.

"No weapons? But I thought that was kind of the point…"

Gladiolus sighs and explains in a tone much like he's talking to a small child. "I have to get a baseline read on you first. You don't touch a weapon until I know what I'm working with."

"Oh."

Mercifully, they reach their destination before Prompto can stick his foot any further into his mouth. They've stopped at the entrance to a park. The grass is green and manicured and it's much nicer than anything in Prompto's neighborhood. Gladiolus leads them past the empty play area and the tennis courts and stops at the track, a well-kept, brown dirt oval. Prompto's spirits lift slightly at the familiar sight; he's run many a track in the last couple years.

He blushes again as he realizes that Gladiolus is standing, arms crossed, watching him and waiting. Prompto's pretty sure at the rate he's going, he may burst a few blood vessels and turn his face permanently red.

"Push-ups."

"Hmm?"

"You have two minutes. Give me as many push-ups as you can manage." Gladiolus has pulled out his cell phone and set a timer.

Prompto stares, a little unsure. He's not sure what he was expecting; maybe something that felt a little more like lesson than a gym class. Nevertheless, he lowers himself hesitantly to the ground, planting his toes and hands firmly in the dirt. He pushes himself up on shaky arms, and he's not even half way there when he hears an exasperated sigh from above him and his trainer drops to the ground beside him. Gladiolus shows him the proper form, palms flat, hands twisted slightly inwards at shoulder width, elbows tucked in. He tries again and Gladiolus grumbles about keeping his body a straight line and pushes down on the small of Prompto's back to fix it and Prompto swears the broad hand on his back nearly sets his skin on fire. He swallows the sensation and attempts a few more push-ups under Gladiolus' watchful eyes.

He's only able to manage a handful that meet his trainer's approval and doesn't mark it anywhere near the two-minute mark before his arms give out on him and he lays trembling, cheek pressed into the dirt. Gladiolus makes an annoyed sound, but doesn't say anything and for that much, at least, Prompto is thankful.

They move on to sit-ups next and Prompto is a feeling a little better about it, because years of running has given him a somewhat decent core. His hopes are quickly squashed as he realizes that 'somewhat' is nowhere near good enough for Gladiolus' standards. He's shaking and starting to sweat and mentally cursing himself for all those years spent running without doing any other kind of work, by the time they're done.

Gladiolus gives him no time to recover as he leads Prompto through a flexibility test, pull-ups on the bars of the nearby gymnasium, planks, and a handful of other exercises that Prompto doesn't even know the names for. Prompto doesn't have to even look at Gladiolus; he knows he's doing terribly. He can feel the disappointment rolling off the older man in waves.

Prompto's really, seriously thinking about just giving up when he finally catches a break. Gladiolus points a finger down the length of the track and tells Prompto to run and Prompto's a little more excited than he should be to finally, finally show that he good at something.

It takes less than a minute for his feet to settle into that familiar rhythm, arms pumping at his sides, posture impeccable. The track flies by beneath his steady footsteps as his mind slips into that special place he always finds when he runs. He feels the tension in his body melting away as his anxiety over his performance leaves him. He can't help the smile that crosses his face.

It's over all too soon and he comes skidding to a stop in front of a grudgingly impressed Gladiolus. Prompto doesn't expect praise, not at all, but his spirits are still a little dampened when all that comes out of Gladiolus' mouth is a succinct, "Again". He circles the track a few more times at his trainer's insistence; twice to measure speed and the rest for stamina.

Dark has fallen completely and the lights in the park have hummed to life by the fifth time he's run the track. Bent over, hands on knees and gasping for breath, he sees Gladiolus lift a hand to order him out again. He doesn't think he can go again and he's tired and annoyed and frustrated and he doesn't know what he was expecting, but this certainly isn't it.

"I still don't see what any of this has to do with fighting," he manages to wheeze out between gasps.

Gladiolus doesn't answer and Prompto starts to think he's just ignoring him, when a sharp tone he's never heard before reaches his ears. He straightens up just in time to see the tail end of a flare of bluish-green light and suddenly there's a sword in Gladiolus' hand. Prompto stares. He knows about this, he's heard Noctis talk about it before, but he's never actually seen it. He wishes he knew how it worked, but the look on Gladiolus' face makes the question die on his lips.

Gladiolus places the sword on the ground between them.

"Hit me."

"What?"

Gladiolus' voice is quiet and firm. "Pick up the sword and hit me with it."

Prompto looks from the man to the sword and back uneasily. It feels like a trick, but the big man's eyes spur him into action. He grabs the sword clumsily in both hands, surprised at the weight of it. It's heavier than he's expecting and fits awkwardly in his grasp. He has no clue where to put his hands so he wraps them overlapping around the hilt and swallows nervously.

He's still trying to figure out the feel of the sword when something hits his chest with all the force of a truck and he flies backwards, landing flat on his back in the dust. Gladiolus is towering over him, pinning his legs in place with the bulk of his body, one massive forearm resting on Prompto's throat.

Prompto stares up, eyes wide, sword forgotten on the ground where it had fallen. Chills rush through him that he's sure have nothing to do with the sweat still drying on his skin. Gladiolus' face is far too close to his. Prompto licks his lips nervously.

"A blade is nothing more than a tool," the big man says finally. He doesn't relieve the pressure on Prompto's neck and his eyes are more fiery than Prompto's seen them yet. "Your body has to be your weapon, first and foremost." He rolls to the side, releasing Prompto and picking up the discarded sword. "This," he continues, "can only be as strong as the person wielding it."

Prompto doesn't know what to say, so he sits up and rubs his throat and coughs, trying to banish the tingling sensation on his skin. Gladiolus looks at Prompto, and his expression is unreadable.

"We're done here."

Prompto should be feeling relief at that statement, but he's so worn out he feels nothing. "When's the next lesson?"

Gladiolus looks at him again and Prompto is so tired he wants to cry. He shakes his head. "No more lessons. I'm not teaching you. You're not ready."

Prompto absorbs the words in shock for a moment. He wants to protest, but Gladiolus has already turned his back on the blonde and walks away so quickly that there's no time for an argument to leave his lips. Prompto stares after him, and even though the air is warm, he shivers from the cold knot in his stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning comes far too quickly for Prompto's liking.

He groans and buries himself further underneath his sheets, keeping his eyelids clenched as the sun pokes its way through his bedroom window. It feels like a challenge; he scrunches his eyes tighter in protest.

He's still wearing the same clothes from the night before, and his skin is sticky with long-dried sweat. After the crushing workout that Gladiolus had given him, he had barely been able to drag himself home. He had blindly kicked off his shoes after making it in the door, and had fallen, fully clothed, into his bed, slipping immediately into a dreamless, dead sleep.

Prompto wants nothing more, in this moment, than to go back to sleep and forget the world, and Gladiolus, and Noctis, and his own stupid weakness exist for just a few more precious hours. But the sun is too bright, and its rays are at the perfect angle to creep in under his eyelids and pry them apart, and…

His eyes fly open, the realization slapping him in the face like a bucket of ice water. The sun is too bright and at the completely wrong angle. His hand scrabbles for his phone, nearly knocking it from its perch in his haste.

He finally catches a glimpse of the stark, red numbers and groans. He's slept through his alarm… by a lot. His eyes fall shut in defeat as he runs both hands through his hair. It feels greasy and unwashed, because it is, and he can feel it sticking up in odd clumps against the roots. He turns over, doing his best to ignore what is now clearly early afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, and promptly buries himself under the sheets once more.

The full ache and burn of his body is starting to make itself painfully known now. He's an over-tuned guitar, arms and legs pulled tight until they feel like they might snap at any moment. Muscles he wasn't even aware he had are now screaming at him. It's absolutely miserable. The only thing that feels semi-okay are his thighs and calves, because he's used to running, but even those hurt a little because he's used to going for distance, not for speed.

As Prompto lays there, every twitch in his worn-out body sending a throbbing ache straight to his head, he hates everything. Or at least, he wants to. He wants to hate Gladiolus first, for pushing so damn hard and being so demanding, and for, after all of that, not even finding Prompto worthy of teaching. He wants to hate Noctis too, for being the reason for all of this in the first place. But he can't hate Gladiolus because he's just doing his job, and he can't hate Noctis because it's Noctis and he just can't, so he settles for hating himself instead.

Prompto hates every bright flare of pain and dull ache that snakes its way through his abused muscles. He hates that he's weak and he especially hates that he can't even fault Gladiolus for the completely undisguised looks of contempt from their session yesterday. He lays in bed and contemplates all the things he hates about himself for so long, that eventually he falls into an uneasy sleep. His body even hurts in his dreams.

* * *

The next time Prompto wakes up, the light coming in through the window has a darker tint. His phone confirms that it's much later and now he has definitely missed all of school. He can't really bring himself to care. For a second, he wonders what woke him up, head still fuzzy from too much sleep at the wrong time of day. Then there's another round of furious pounding on his front door that clears up the mystery pretty quickly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he calls out blearily as he hauls his sore body up out of bed and stumbles toward the door. Luckily, his apartment is small; he doesn't have far to go.

When he finally remembers how to work the door, he's surprised to see Noctis on the other side. The prince doesn't wait for permission, just brushes past Prompto like he belongs there and throws himself down at the kitchen table. Noctis looks at Prompto, eyebrows disappearing under his shaggy bangs, as he announces, "Dude. You reek."

Prompto thinks he would probably blush, if he had the energy or motivation to be embarrassed, but he's still a little numb. If this were any other time, he'd be stammering by now, because he knows he's a hot mess right now and the thought of the crown prince of Lucis in his apartment is a little bit mortifying. It's small and cramped, and somehow both sadly bare yet still messy at the same time.

But Prompto's mind is still firmly on the events of yesterday, so he just shrugs in a mild apology and closes the door, leaning back against it to stare back at Noctis. The thought of folding his body into a chair right now seems like a little more than he can handle.

"I was beat last night. I fell asleep without showering."

"Well, you missed school. I brought you notes." When Prompto doesn't move to collect the offered papers, Noctis lets them fall to the table in a heap. The prince screws up his face and his gaze lands somewhere slightly above Prompto's left shoulder. "How'd it go with Gladio?"

Prompto sighs; from his face, Noctis evidently already knows how it went. Prompto wonders for a brief moment how he found out, but he quickly dismisses the thought. It would clearly be too much to ask that one of the more embarrassing moments of his life be kept a secret.

Prompto sighs again and lets his back slide down the length of the door until his butt hits the floor, ignoring the twinge of pain in his legs as he pulls them against the chest. This is his friend, and yeah maybe they haven't been friends for very long yet, but this is how it's supposed to work. They're supposed to talk about stuff. Probably.

Prompto props his chin on his knees and now Noctis is actually looking him in the eyes again. "It was pretty terrible," he finally admits. Prompto takes Noctis' silence as encouragement to keep going. "I sucked… and Gladiolus seems like kind of an asshole."

Noctis snorts in laughter. "Yeah, Gladio can come off that way, but he's actually a pretty good guy. He wasn't my favorite person either, but he'll grow on you."

"He won't get the chance to, he fired me."

"Fired you?" Noctis raises his eyebrows again.

"Whatever, he 'let me go'. Thanks, but no thanks and all that jazz. I suck too much to teach."

"Jeez, pity party much?"

"Well, it's true!" Prompto wants to pout, but the shreds of his dignity he has left won't allow him to. "I can't do a push-up or a pull-up to save my life and he even wore me out at running, which is the one thing I'm actually good at. I barely touched a weapon, and when I did, he fucking demolished me before I even got a chance to figure out what the hell I was doing."

"Oh, boo-hoo." Prompto is fairly certain that Noctis actually rolls his eyes at him. "Do you know how many times Gladio knocked me on my ass when he was training me? Hell, it still happens at least once a week and I've been learning to fight for years."

"Yeah, but…" Prompto trails off, his words dragging him down like lead weights. He isn't sure what he wants to say.

Yeah, but you're the prince.  
Yeah, but you're better than me.  
Yeah, but I don't deserve the chance.

But he doesn't say any of that, clamping his traitorous mouth shut instead.

"Look," Noctis says, clearly exasperated, "you've just got to handle Gladio in a way that he understands. Be an asshole right back to him. It's too early to just give up. Besides… you can't let him feel like he's won. He's obnoxious when he thinks that he's right."

Prompto chews on his lip in thought and nods, and Noctis steers the conversation over to what he had missed at school that day. Prompto doesn't pay much attention, half-heartedly nodding in all the right spots and laughing at the appropriate moments. He's secretly a little glad when there's a loud honk from outside and Noctis groans in annoyance and makes his way out the door to a waiting Ignis.

Prompto thinks, and thinks, and thinks about what Noctis had said, the words are tumbling around his brain, ricocheting off each other like bullets until his head starts to hurt. Before he can start second-guessing himself, he's up and out the door, feet pounding the pavement. He starts at a brisk walk that turns into a jog that nearly turns into a full-out sprint as he barely manages to contain his new pent-up energy.

The trip to Gladiolus' house is over in an instant and Prompto wastes no time bounding up the front steps and hammering the door with his fist. If he stops for too long, and thinks about what he's about to do, he knows he'll chicken out. Iris opens the door, eyes wide with curiosity, as Prompto manages a tight, 'Where?'. To her credit, she seems to know what he wants immediately. She points to a hallway off the main room and indicates the second door on the right. He brushes past her, feeling her confused stare on the back of his head. He's too wound up to care.

"You!" He throws open the door. Gladiolus is seated on a wide bed, chest bare, towel wrapped around his waist, dragging a comb through his wet hair. The big man's forehead bunches in confusion for a moment, before it smooths back out and Gladiolus glares at him. He looks annoyingly unruffled, Prompto thinks. Like blonde, angry teenagers came bursting into his room all the time.

"You!" Prompto repeats again, stopping a foot away from Gladiolus and poking a finger in his direction angrily. "You are going to teach me. I am going to work, and train, and get better, and then you are going to teach me!"

With that, he's said what he came here to say, so he turns on his heel and stalks back out of the room, past Iris and back out of the house as quickly as he can. He's halfway home before the mortification starts to set in. Did he really? Did he really just do that? And all of the sudden, Prompto is painfully aware of how stupid he must have looked, still in the same clothes from yesterday, unwashed hair sticking up at odd angles, storming into someone else's house and shouting at them, demanding they teach him.

He takes a deep breath and stops walking for a moment, hiding his face in his hands. After taking a moment to compose himself, he drops his hands and resumes walking. There's nothing he can do now, but make good on his word. It's time to make himself better.


	4. Chapter 4

Deciding to be better is monumentally easier than actually being better, Prompto comes to find out very quickly. In fact, this self-improvement may be the hardest thing he's ever done, and though he's young, he feels like he's done a lot.

He had only planned on working out until he could properly face up to Gladiolus again, but it rapidly becomes more than that. He settles into a new schedule over the next few weeks. He's already used to running in the mornings before school, so that's not too hard an adjustment for him. But he does up the intensity, waking before the sun every day to add an additional couple of miles onto his route.

The park where he had had his first training session with Gladiolus becomes like a second home. If he's not at school, or at his apartment, he's almost guaranteed to found circling the track or hanging from the playground bars, trying to perfect his pull-ups. By the time he's been doing this for a month, people have begun acknowledging him with a smile or a friendly tilt of the head. It's nice, almost like when he first started running all those years ago, and it fills him with a strange sense of pride.

The first week or so had been absolutely brutal on his body. He had pushed himself hard- harder than he probably should have. There had been a few times when, lying in bed with his legs twitching and the muscles in his arms feeling like they were being prodded with red-hot pokers, he had seriously considering throwing in the towel. But he had pushed through.

And things did get better. Slowly, at first, his legs got stronger and his arms began to fill out in ways he couldn't help but admire in the mirror. Prompto had realized one evening with a start that it had been at least a week without being woken in the middle of the night by his various aches and pains.

There were some downsides; his grades, which were not stellar to begin with, had definitely started to slip into the not-so-acceptable category. He tried to care when his teacher handed him another paper with a red F across the top and Noctis arched a questioning eyebrow at him. It was hard though. He felt like a shark with the scent of blood in the water. He had a goal and a plan and school was not a part of that, for now.

At some point, Gladiolus had begun to watch him. The first time Prompto had noticed, he had been circling the track in an almost lazy way, debating in his head whether or not he had the money for take-out that night, when he felt the familiar creep of eyes on the back of his head. When he had finally caught sight of Gladiolus, leaning casually against the nearby swing set, eyes following Prompto's every move, he had flushed red from the bottom of his neck to the tops of his ears. After that, he had done his best to ignore both the big man and the sudden flurry of butterflies that had seemed to take up residence in his stomach.

Gladiolus had stayed, silent and watching, until Prompto had finally called it a night. He never approached him or said anything and by the time Prompto had finished his cool-down lap, the bigger man was gone. It appeared that whatever he had seen had made him happy though, because after that Gladiolus began to appear once or twice a week. He only ever watched, arms crossed, face expressionless, but still his presence spurred Prompto to improve his performance even more. It also made him nervous, but Prompto told himself it was just because he wanted Gladiolus' approval. Probably.

Sometimes Noctis comes with Prompto and those days are his favorite. Having the prince with him makes the workouts go by that much faster and it's always good to have someone else encouraging him besides himself. Prompto occasionally finds himself staring with envy at Noctis' upper arms. They're lean and nicely muscled from years of wielding a sword and Prompto can't help his jealousy. He sighs and remind himself that he will get there too eventually, as long as he doesn't mess this whole thing up.

To Prompto's surprise, one afternoon Ignis joins them for a run, stripping to the waist to reveal a chest that's much more toned than he was expecting. He tries not to stare. The prince's advisor keeps up easily with the pace Prompto sets, though Prompto is secretly pleased to discover that of the three of them, he's the fastest.

"He's all bark and very little bite, you know."

"Huh?"

For a moment, Prompto is so taken aback he doesn't even process what Ignis is saying. It's astonishment, really. He can't remember the solemn man ever really speaking to him beyond a perfunctory 'hello' as their paths crossed in the parking lot after school.

"Gladio," Ignis explains, something like amusement playing across his features. "He may be occasionally rough around the edges, but he's a good man. You're lucky to have a chance to learn from him. He doesn't take many students."

"Well, he almost didn't take me," Prompto replies. They've just finished another loop of the track. He figures a few more times around should just about do it for today. "I'm not even sure if he's still my trainer or not. I kind of ambushed him."

He hears Noctis stifle a laugh from a few paces behind him. Ignis shoots the prince an admonishing glance and continues. "Yes, well he's impressed with your progress. He said he didn't think you had it in you."

All of the sudden, Prompto is very happy that they're running so hard. He thinks he can probably pass off the brief coloring of his cheeks as exertion. "Hmmm," is his only response.

They're quiet after that, the only sounds are their footfalls and breathing, and the occasional shriek of children from the playground.

He feels the rock underfoot at the last second, too late to do anything but frantically throw his hands out in front of himself as he goes down, hard. His right knee twists beneath him and hurts like a son of a bitch. It's a familiar pain. He realizes with humiliation that Noctis and Ignis have both slowed to a stop and are looking down at him with twin looks of concern.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Prompto insists, trying to wave them off. "I've done this before, no big deal." He has a history with this knee, but this is the first time it's acted up in quite a while. He's just glad it didn't happen one of the times that Gladiolus was watching him. Prompto attempts to rise and his knee immediately gives out on him; he falls back to the ground with an 'oomph'.

Ignis drops to his knees beside him and just like that, the older man is all business. He's clipped and concise and Prompto's more than a little impressed at how quickly he transitions from casual friend to caretaker. Ignis' slender hands encircle Prompto's knee, fingers probing delicately at the sore flesh. It's beginning to swell and darken. Prompto takes a sharp breath, hissing slightly, when he presses on the spot where the pain's the worst, but besides that it's not too bad.

"Nothing torn," Ignis announces, as he releases Prompto's leg, rocking back onto his own heels. "Just sprained, I believe." He rises and begins to brush the red track dust from his pants. Prompto feels a twinge of embarrassment for making the normally uptight man kneel in the dirt.

"It's an old injury." This time he accepts the help as both Noctis and Ignis reach down to pull him up. He stands, carefully balanced on his uninjured leg, and when Noctis offers his shoulder for support, Prompto takes it gratefully.

Between the two of them, they manage to get Prompto to the car with no further incident. As he slides into the backseat, ignoring the twinge of pain in his knee, he's secretly relieved the prince and his advisor are there to help. He doesn't even want to imagine the walk home otherwise.

"So," Noctis asks, once the car is underway. It's starting to get dark and the streetlights flickering to life cast alternating bright and dark bars of light across his face. "How long until I can officially make fun of you for this?"

Prompto groans and hangs his head. "At least give me until I heal. By then, I'm sure you'll have plenty of ammo anyway." He sighs unhappily. "There's no way he'll teach me now. I'm pretty sure being able to walk is one of those things you have to do to fight. How embarrassing."

He catches Ignis' eyes in the rearview mirror; they look like he's smiling. "I wouldn't be so sure."

* * *

The next morning is a Saturday and Prompto's exhausted, so he sleeps until almost noon. He's annoying at himself for setting his training schedule so far back but also a little grateful that he won't have to do anything today.

There's a package on his porch when he hobbles out to check the mail. His name is scrawled across the top in an untidy script, but other than that the box is blank. He frowns as he opens it, at a loss as to what it might be. He knows he hasn't ordered anything recently, and no one ever sends him mail.

Inside, there's a knee brace. A good one, he realizes, with much more support than the old one he's been using. Digging deeper into the box, he comes up with a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers. There's a note wrapped around it.

'Next Saturday. 3 pm.'

It's not signed, but it doesn't need to be. Prompto smiles at the warm rush of pride he feels in his chest as he slips the note into his pocket.


End file.
